Persistance of Memory Part I: In Memorium
by Shinosenshi
Summary: Refusing to drown in the dispair that threatens when Kaytlin Michaels learns that ten years of her life is missing, she continues with life, wanting to start anew. Yet the past does not let go of those it toys with so easily.
1. Wake up The day is calling

**A/N: Alright, I'm having typing issues tonight, can't belt out a coherent sentence without typing something oddly…**

**Anyway, this pretty much an angst fic, which I haven't done since the 20,000 word, three part series two years ago that never got finished….Mmmm.**

**Whoa, an hour later.  I got sidetracked there by making moving icons…anyway, watch for angst and a little gory memories…**

**Oh, right, disclaimer.  I own none of J K Rowlings characters or idea.  I do own Kaytlin Michaels, and anyone who reads this who has the same name as her I apologize. I got tired of obscure, fantasy like names…**

**So Cliché!**

**…One /day/ later…**

**And the deal behind my using all the famous artworks and poems in my titles is to create some sort of weird link to our world…and I don't own any of them, either!**

~~~~~~

**Persistance**** of Memory **

**Part One – In memorium…**

****

Chapter One – Wake up.  Day calls you.

A pain beyond that I had ever experienced, a light so brilliant that it burned.  Tremors coursed through my body that accompanied an agony such as I had never sought in any nightmare.

My head throbbed, I could hear the blood rushing through my veins and roaring in my ears…

And then I realized I had done naught but open my eyes, and yet I could not see.

"Thank Merlin, she's awake…"  Who was awake?  The cool, alien sound of the adult voice broke my reverie of pain and fear, and unwittingly I twitched slightly, the movement driving daggers into my limbs.  Why did I hurt so?  "Do you know your name, sweetie?" The feminine voice crooned in a tone that soothed me, very close to my ear.  I dared not nod, as my mind was still cringing and trembling from the pain even the slight jerk I had just experienced.  But, yes, I knew my name…

"Kaytlin Michaels…"  A twinge of surprise broke through my pain and terror of white-blindness, for the voice which had spoke on my mental command was not my own.  Another gut wrenching pull of panic took me – what was happening?  What _had_ happened?  Oh gods, why did I hurt so?  Wave after wave of pain flowed through my wrecked body, and through the whiteness that was my vision I began to make out dull shapes moving in the painful brilliance of the room I seemed to be cloistered in.  The soothing woman spoke again, though not to me.

"Her memory isn't damaged, at least.  She knows her own name."

"Good." So sharp.  That voice…_that_ voice struck a harsh chord of pain in my temple.  "The ministry will be happy.  I need to question her, and she'd be useless if her memory has been damaged."  Something about his tone struck me as untruthful, yet I could not pick it.

I blinked, and a the scene improved in clarity enough for me to make out two women and a man judging by shape, before someone adjusted the bed sheets of whatever I had been laid on, sending another wave of white hot pain tearing through me.  Someone cried out, but I did not recognise the voice other than it belonged to whoever had spoken my name.

"Careful with her," The soothing woman exclaimed quietly, and a plump shape bustled over to me and placed a cloth over my face.  Something cool trickled into my eyes, and when the cloth was removed I could see again.

It crossed my mind to say thank you as my mother had always taught me, but when I tried the female with the unfamiliar voice obliged before I could get the words out.

The man snorted, "She has been comatose for three and a half weeks, and yet she persists with such inane pleasantries."

"Ssssshhhh!" The plump, friendly woman hissed, "She's in a delicate state, Sir!  If you aren't going to respect that I will have to ask you to-"

"I'm not leaving, the minister ordered me to stay."  Yet again, I sensed a lie there in his cold, businesslike tone, but fatigue was seeping in to replace the physical torture I was experiencing, and I drifted into blessed blackness.

~~~~

The next time my eyes opened, there was no pain.  No blindness and no friendly, plump and burry shape.

Just a white hospital room, a man, and slightly fuzzy, blurred feeling that lay over my mind like a woolen blanket, hindering my ability to think of anything other than the lingering memory of agony from my last awakening, and the distinct unpleasant appearance of the man before me.

"Hello, Miss Michaels." I shivered slightly, recognising the man's cold voice from yesterday, and I studied him with interest.  His greeting had been nothing more than a cold, routine statement, yet his face was unusually handsome with a swathe of pale hair and disinterested yet heavily lidded grey eyes.  He seemed disconcerted by my stare, and shifted nervously.  "I hope you're feeling better than yesterday.  Apparently you were in pain…?" He raise his eyebrows, calm eyes and callous tone betraying the smooth words.  I nodded, incapable of more.  "Dear me.  I am required to ask you a few questions, since your memory hasn't been…ah, damaged by the coma…"

"Coma?" I asked, flinching slightly at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, once again speaking for me.  What _was_ that? "I…What's a coma?" The word sounded familiar, but the meaning escaped me.  I coloured slightly when the man raised his eyebrows again, this time in obvious mockery.

"Comatose, Miss Michaels.  Asleep without any certain time of waking?" Something shifted in his expression, and he sat forwards a little bit.  "Do you remember the night you fell into the coma, Miss Michaels?"  I shook my head, and he narrowed his stony, grey eyes.  "It's funny you don't know the term coma…I was under the impression that you were a bright young lady." He didn't give me a chance to snap at the indication that I was stupid.  "Tell me, how old are you Miss Michaels?"

"Five. Six this October." I replied immediately, frowning when the mature voice answered.

"Oh dear…" He sighed, fixing me with such an examining look that I glanced away – I couldn't understand what was going on.  I only looked back when he rose, picking a mirror up from the bedside table.  He sat back down with a degree of languid boredom that made me think instantaneously of a serpent, sliding the mirror into my hand that sat prone of the crisp white bedspread.  "I am…Sorry Miss Michaels…"

He didn't sound sorry at all, and it was the slightly triumphant tenor to his words that prompted me to pick up the mirror in a hand trembling from weakness.  I stopped before I had even flipped the mirror over, staring frozen at the hand which held it.  Bony with long, pale fingernails…elegant but spidery…And _I did not recognise them as my own._

With a feeling of creeping dread I turned the mirror over and raised it to my face.

And the word dissolved around me once more.

Because the face in it was not mine.

I did not faint – I know I did not faint because I could still hear the plump, kind nurse yelling at the man who questioned me.  She was beyond irate.  Something about ignoring the prospect that I might slip back into coma from shock.  I wasn't concentrating on her words, though.  The face that I had seen in the mirror floated over my eyes.  Wide, hollow eyes framed with long lashes and sporting an odd, amber hue, a thick swathe of plain, pale mousey hair and a face that would normally be plain to look at, but had been wasted by illness into a hollow-cheeked wraithe.

A face that appeared sixteen years of age, and I was not sixteen.

Was I?

The face looked vaguely familiar – the eyes.  Same colour that I admired as my only beautiful feature in the mirror, every morning.  Same hair colour.  But I was not sixteen.  I could not be sixteen.

Yet damage to my memory had been mentioned as a possibility.

Which meant the last ten years of my life were missing from my knowledge.

This time, I did faint, and welcomed the descending blackness with all my soul.


	2. The Road not Taken

**A/N: Confused yet?  I am, and I'm writing the sodding thing. I'll try and drag it together a little this chapter, but the general idea is to have _no_ idea so there you have it!  And as for the obvious lack of emotion in these first to chapters, try and put yourself in Kaytlin's perspective – she basically has no personality that she can recall.**

**Disclaimer – Own Kaytlin, and that's it.  And the idea, of course.  Otherwise, other characters and ideas are J K Rowling's.**

**Queen is my antidrug!**

~~~~~

**Persistance**** of Memory**

**Part One – In nemorium.**

****

Chapter Two: The Road Not Taken.

The next few times I awoke were, to say the least, uneventful.  I surmised that my nurse had managed to get rid of the man who had tried without success to question me, as for the next few days it was only her voice and face that came to me with increasingly substantial amounts of food.  I was amazed at how weak I was in the first two or three days after regaining consciousness, incapable of even feeding myself.

During this twilight period of my existence, however, I became resigned to the fact that ten years of my life were gone.  Missing from my knowledge.  I was sixteen years old coming October, and could remember nothing save that I had known previous to five years old.  Which wasn't much at all, as can be imagined.

I had a lot of time to think whilst I was still to weak to even contemplate moving of my own free will, and it occurred to me at some point that even though I could not for the life of me remember whether or not I liked reading or listening to music, I could still recall things along the lines of multiplication tables and how to tie my shoes.

And I was fairly certain I had learned those things after the age of five.

So, I had only forgotten the things which, in a sense, made up _me_ as a person.  I could think, yet I had ceased to exist as a human through lack of personality.

Perhaps it was not such a good thing for me to have time to think, as I found myself sinking into a deep kind of depression at this knowledge that the essence of my person was lost to me indefinitely.  What, then, did I have to live for?

And then the ultimatum was presented to me by the least likely of parties.

It happened on what I perceived to be the fifth day of my sojourn in the hospital when I had passed beyond the point of depression to descend into a state of listless despair knowing I had lost everything, and despite the fact that my strength had all but returned I simply lay there hour after hour, drifting between sleep and a state of such unbearable emotional desolation I wished myself to be back in a comatose state.  My eyes slid open with the usual sluggishness that came after sleeping, and yet again a man sat by my bed.

This man was very much unlike the last, though, so I managed to struggle into a sitting position to face this old man.  I knew how I must have looked to him; too thin still, my nurse had said that perhaps I would always be so, and sporting a chilly blank mask covering the raging desperation and fear that I experienced inside.

And yet, the blue-eyed old man smiled at me, apparently oblivious that his long white beard was almost trailing on the floor in a ridiculous manner.

I knew he was a wizard instantaneously, and it seemed quite practical for me to assume so.

"Good morning, Kaytlin," He said to me calmly as though I had just popped into the kitchen for a coffee.  "My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I'm the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

I nodded, surprising myself with the fact that I recalled the school, understanding from my primitive five year old's memories that I had once been enrolled there.  "I'm a witch then?" I inquired, shivering slightly at the sound of my own voice.  I was still not used to hearing it.  The fact that I was a witch didn't surprise me overmuch, and so I put it down to innate knowledge that I had been aware of very early in my life.  I thrill passed through me as I realized I finally had something to cling to, something that I could identify myself with.

"Yes, you're a witch.  And you should have been attending Hogwarts since eleven, but…" Dumbledore shook his head, "You never sent back the confirmation letter.  I never dreamed that such a thing…" Again, he shook his head.

 I remained silent, not even bothering to understand what he was saying.  The only thing that troubled me was exactly what seemed to be troubling the headmaster – what had happened that prevented me from attending Hogwarts?  The desperation passed away in a wash of sudden anger at my state, because I knew that I could not provide an answer.

"I can't help you, you know. Any more than I could help that awful man who visited me the day I woke up." I found myself saying this without forethought, and forced myself into silence.  I was talking like a five year old and was disgusted at myself for it.

Dumbledore eyed me sharply, 'Someone else came to see you?  What was his name?"

"I couldn't tell you, Sir." I responded helplessly – I really did want to help him.  "But the nurse didn't like him being here.  He was on orders from the minister to question me.  About what, though, I haven't got a clue."

The headmaster nodded, apparently unconcerned by my inability to be of assistance.  "Perhaps you could tell me what he looked like?"

"Tall, probably.  But my sense of perspective is kind of weird at the moment," I admitted. "He had longish blond hair, and grey eyes.  I can't remember much more, I'm sorry, I just…"

"That's enough," Dumbledore told me grimly, "Now, before I leave I have an offer to make you.  It is possible for you to begin at Hogwarts in your fifth year.  You would be a year younger than everyone else, but starting in sixth isn't a possibility.  You would have to work doubly hard as everyone else, but the decision is entirely up to you." He stood, and I noticed that he was clad in flowing violet robes, an attire I did not find obscure at all.  He smiled once more, and left.  On his way out, I heard him muttering to a severe looking woman who had been standing unnoticed and dour by the door.  "Minerva, please let the right people know that Lucius Malfoy has escaped from Azkaban and is styling himself as a ministry official."

~~~

"Are you sure you want to do this?"  My nurse, Eloise, hovered with obvious concern by my bedside, watching with trepidation as I pulled on the pair of brown boots she had bought me with the meager amount of money that had been found in my coat pocket when I was brought, unconscious, to St Mungos four and a half weeks ago.  I was wearing the washed and darned clothes I had been found in, and despite Eloise's admirable efforts to patch them up, I still felt somewhat derelict.

I nodded, standing somewhat shakily.  "I'm fine, and I need to get up and go out sometime.  Especially if I'm to start school in ten days." I turned to face the plump woman I had come to regard with affection as the only static part of my life, which to me only existed as a week long period.  "And I need to find out how much money is in my account at Gringotts." I saw the flicker of indiscernible emotion cross her kind face, and smiled sadly, "Ellie, I have to think along the lines of that I am on my own now.  You tell me I was brought in by a wizarding couple who had just found me unconscious in the street, and since I can't…" I took a deep breath, but went one, "Can't remember anything at all about my family I have to assume…"

I stopped, sensing she understood, and had done since I put forwards my intention to stay in a hotel in the wizarding district, apparently called Diagon Ally, until it was time for me to start Hogwarts.  Eloise had known when she argued that I had no idea how weak I still was, and whether or not I was allergic to things, or if I had any illnesses.

Yet I had told her that I could not live like that, for if I were to live at all it would not be by trying to regain the ten years worth of life that had been stolen from me.  I still retained a cold barrier that separated me from the knowledge still possessed no understanding of who I was, but sometimes during my time since Albus Dumbledore had visited I had decided to take it one day at a time.

I gathered the shorter, sturdy nurse into an enveloping hug, once again uncomfortable in my own 5"10 body.  I had not anticipated such height, and my first attempt to walk after the coma was an utter tragedy – I could recall being nothing more than 4 foot something, and all of a sudden the doorframes were painfully low.  Still, days after, I felt awkward and ungainly.  "Ellie, I'll come and visit, of course!  And I'll write to you, all the time.  I have no one else to write to, so you're it!"

She laughed, and I was genuinely surprised and delighted to find the wonderful woman's eyes bright with tears.  I had barely gotten to know her, and I put my own attachment down to simple lack of other human contact.  "Alright, Miss Kay, you write.  And you come and see me, too!" She released me from the embrace and pushed me gently towards the door

I stepped into a too-quiet hallway of St Mungos and paused outside the door for a bare moment.  Eloise had offered to accompany me down to the muggle subway, but I had told her quite truthfully that I could remember the impersonal, mundane things like working the subway, a comment which cost me more emotionally than I would ever reveal.

I could sense that from this point onwards, my life would be a lot of acting casual, when every explanation cost me a hundred internal tears.

Dragging my considerable length of pale hair into a low-slung ponytail before trotting hurriedly down the stairs to the busy muggle street outside, I repressed the sudden surge of fear that I was walking away from what remained of my life, a life that had been washed away by an event no one could explain.  In a sense, I had nothing to loose, and it was with this grim thought that I passed through the glass wall of St Mungos and faded into the bustling crowd of muggles, suppressing my wonder at something that I may as well have not seen in ten, long years. 

I could only hope that the road I had chosen would not lead me to regret, to one day look back and wonder whether I had been wise to attempt to gather up the loose ends of a life perhaps forever lost to me.


End file.
